Unusual Days
by MidnightDawn999
Summary: The 'unusual days' of the Ranskahov brothers. (A oneshot collection, sequel to Normal Days)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is sort of the opposite -older-younger- brother principle, opposite from the story "Normal Days" On my wall... Co-written with Rubblestrength! Thank you for reading!**

 **Anatoly: Younger, Vladimir: Older**

"Lights out!"

The loud exclamation was repeated multiple times. Several children obediently switched off lights as the clock struck eight-thirty. Vladimir shifted, sliding off the bed. The thirteen-year-old moved toward the closest light switch. He briefly glanced back at Anatoly, who looked half-asleep already... before it was even dark. In a few moments, he reached the light and turned it out. Several other lights flicked off, and the sound of people walking through the darkness was audible.

"No noise!"

Everyone was already quiet. Vladimir vaguely glanced in the direction of the voice that shouted out orders. He would leave this place... one day. Orphanage? Right. It seemed more like a children's prison. Vladimir reached the bed, and only found it because his bare foot met the metal edge. He cringed and barely kept back an exclamation... after all, they were supposed to be quiet. He paused. Moving to the next bed, he knelt beside it. He had to make sure Anatoly was all right.

Anatoly blinked owlishly at the figure, yawning. "Vlad'ir?" he whispered, despite the yawn.

"Mhm... You okay?" He ruffled Anatoly's hair and smirked. Just because he didn't like it here, he wouldn't make it miserable for his little brother.

Anatoly nodded, leaning forward and shifting until he was sitting on top of his legs. He sniffed, light brown bangs falling in front of his eyes. "How long do we have to stay?"

Vladimir shrugged. "You don't like it here?" He didn't blame him. Vlad couldn't stand it here.

"No," Anatoly confirmed miserably.

"Okay. We won't stay long then," Vlad announced in a whisper. The idea of living on the streets wasn't a pleasant one... still, Vlad knew there were ways to survive-in fact, do more than survive. And he had every intention of surviving, and keeping Anatoly safe. "Just a few more days, all right?"

"Da." Anatoly started fiddling with a loose strand on the blanket. "Can we play a game, Vlad'ir?"

Vladimir grimaced. Lights out had come and gone. He was supposed to be in his bed, and everyone was supposed to be asleep. Then again, he'd never been one for following the rules. "Sure," Vlad whispered, glancing around to ensure no one was near enough to hear them.

Anatoly grinned and scrambled off the edge of the bed, dropping to the floor.

"Quiet, remember... we have to be quiet," Vlad gently scolded, whispering quietly.

"Sorry," Anatoly replied with a shy smile, even as he moved to his brother's side.

"It's okay. Now, we're gonna..." Vlad needed to think of something fast, because Anatoly didn't really like playing the same thing more than once. "We're gonna draw in the dark... and see what it looks like, okay?"

"Yay!" The child jumped, though somehow he stayed silent despite his burst of excitement.

Vlad pulled a worn half-used notebook from under the bed, then retrieved the pencil.

"Can I go first?" Anatoly asked timidly, following his sibling like a lost puppy.

"Yes." Vlad pushed the notebook to Anatoly and stuffed the pencil in his hand.

"What should I draw?"

"Draw..." Vladimir paused. "Draw the woman who calls lights out."

Anatoly started doing just that - scribbling what he thought would turn out to be a pretty decent drawing of the woman. A circle for her head, circles for eyes, a mouth, and some noodle-like scribbling for hair.

Vlad waited in the silence. He had a lighter, which he'd smuggled in. He could use it to look at the drawing... whenever it was finished. Vlad smirked as he wondered what it might look like. With no light... he could only imagine.

"I'm done," the younger spoke.

Vlad flipped open the lighter and turned the wheel... once, twice... then it lit. He held it far enough away from the paper that it didn't start a fire. Blue eyes widened and he held back his laughter. The thing-supposed to be a woman-was a disfigured donkey creature with eyes of the devil.

Anatoly gasped in shock, as though the five-year-old had truly thought it was going to turn out quite well. He gaped at the paper, looking somewhat horrified by his creation; until the laughter came, quiet squeaks as he tipped over, head falling against Vladimir's chest.

Vladimir flipped the lighter shut and grinned. His own laughter was silent. That thing-the creature Anatoly had drawn-actually looked pretty accurate, as far as Vlad was concerned. He couldn't stop laughing. He tried-truly he did. It was all he could do not to laugh loudly enough to wake everyone.

Anatoly handed the pencil back to his brother, "You try it!" he beamed, covering his mouth as he kept back more laughter.

He took it, and the paper, and asked, "Okay, what am I drawing?"

"Me!"

"Oh boy... okay. You asked for it." Vlad set about drawing. His eyes tried to see the paper, but only saw blackness. He drew a circle-at least, he hoped it was a circle. Slowly, he inched the lead a bit to the right. One eye... a bit more... the other eye. He paused, moving a bit left and down. Nose. Further down and right, then left... lips... or, a line that ought to represent lips. Shoot... He sighed. He'd forgotten the hair. This picture was doomed to have a mop hanging on its face somewhere... unless its hair was floating mystically off its head. Still, he carefully moved up and drew hair... a few strings of it anyway. Then he flicked on the lighter.

Anatoly looked on in anticipation. As the light turned on, the child bit back a squeaking laugh. It resembled a pelican, he mused. The lips eerily close to the nose and the eyes just-oh-so-off-centered. The hair floated above the scalp.

"Oh..." Vladimir shook his head. Well, it looked... it looked terrifying. That was about how Anatoly looked to him at five in the morning... bounding all over the place with... energy. Vlad smirked. "Looks about right, I think!"

Anatoly made an indignant sound, even through the bouts of giggling.

Vlad nudged the five-year-old and passed the paper and pencil to him again. "Your turn." He closed the lighter. "Draw me." He wondered how devilish it would look.

And so, Anatoly went to drawing. He picked the led from the paper - seconds later realizing what a mistake he had made. So, he guessed, drawing a crooked smirk somewhere in the general vicinity of the circle that represented Vladimir's head. Then the eyes, and the spiked hair. He lightly smacked his brother's arm to get his attention and signal his finish.

Vlad flicked on the lighter again and shone it over the paper. He snorted-it hurt, but it was funny. The picture was... well, his eyes were VERY close together, his lips... they were right under the eyes. He didn't have a nose... or, was that it? Yes, that thing hovering beside his head was a nose. His hair was in the right place though. He laughed. It looked a bit like Satan with his face smooshed in.

"Wow," Anatoly managed, his expression strange as he stared on. He wondered why it was so difficult. He laughed, leaning against his sibling as he did so. Things were already looking up...

 **Now may I suggest going back and re-reading, imagining them with their show-ages... Hehe. God bless!**


	2. Chapter 2

A child sat on his sibling's bed as said sibling did school. Anatoly was seated by Vladimir's head, small hands kneading blond hair. "Fuzzy," he drew out In his young voice.

Vladimir was focused solely on his work. He didn't want to be like their father. The man worked at a lumber yard. Yes, that was a perfectly good job, and someone had to do it... but Vladimir wanted more from life. His eyes scanned over his book. Homework was all he had to...

"Anatoly?" Vladimir looked up. "What are you doing?"

Anatoly giggled and rocked back, blinking owlishly and grinning. "Fuzzy," he repeated, still gripping his older brother's hair. The two-year-old laughed again.

Vlad huffed quietly, the warm air blowing Anatoly's hair back a bit. "You're fuzzy." He ran a hand over his little brother's head.

The child laughed and leaned into the hand - he'd seen the neighbors cat doing it. Why did animals act the way they did, he wondered, eyes sparkling as he repeated the purring sound.

Now that Anatoly was distracted with his left hand, he set the right one to work on homework. "Where is the..." he red the rest silently, then announced the answer to the air, "Moscow."

Anatoly deposited himself on top of the book, hands reaching for Vladimir's hair again. He laughed obnoxiously, "Fuzzy, Vlad'ir!"

"Keep it up and Fuzzy is gonna put you back in prison." Vladimir pointed across the room toward the large walled-in crib that was the two-year-old's bed.

In response, Anatoly screeched and flung himself off of the papers, madly rushing to the opposite side of the bed. He grabbed the pillow and hugged it, staring wide-eyed at Vladimir. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I know you are, little brother. I'm not mad at you," Vlad stated, looking up from his homework again, just to reassure Anatoly.

"Okay." Anatoly watched Vlad. "Books?" he asked, eyes briefly shifting to his homework.

"Books... knowledge is power." Vlad paused. He'd heard people say that... and he was only just repeating it. As an eleven-year-old, Vladimir had never completely understood that... but he was beginning to.

"Why?" Anatoly queried cautiously.

"I guess..." Vlad sighed. "I guess the more you know, the better your life is?" He didn't truly know yet.

Anatoly nodded. He moved across the bed, still cautious, and nestled into a place at his brother's side, staring at the pages.

Vladimir pointed at one of the pictures... a geography image. "That... that's America. Some day, we're going to go there." He'd heard things... bad things, mostly. But what he'd realized was that, America... for all it's bad, was a very good place to live. It's people were free to speak and do as they pleased-within reason. That-freedom-was something Vlad wanted... even as a child.


	3. Chapter 3

The ten-year-old couldn't fall back asleep. He'd tried, tried to ignore it - it only grew worse. He pressed fingers against his eyelid, biting back a sound as the stabbing pain continued. The old warehouse creaked in the night, wind howling against its walls. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Anatoly sighed tiredly, curled up on one of the couches. A rat squeaked and ran across the floor, the house creaked again. He doubted his brother was sleeping anyway.

What if he was? He didn't want to wake him up for nothing.

His eye itched, and he pulled his hand away, blinking to try to get it - whatever it was - out. It failed. He growled in frustrated annoyance and covered his eyes with his hands. Whatever it was, was definitely bigger than an eyelash, he mused in irritation, pressing his palm against it.

Vladimir shifted, rotating on the old leather couch across from Anatoly. He could hear his younger sibling shifting, turning. "Can't sleep?"

"My eye," the sighed reply came.

"Hm?" Nineteen-year-old Vlad swung his legs off the couch and reached for the lamp on the desk. He stretched a bit farther, then found the switch. He flicked it on, and watched while its dim light flickered for several seconds before steadying.

"My eye hurts," he repeated through clenched teeth, sitting up on the couch. He kept a hand pressed against the eyelid even as he turned his head towards Vladimir.

Vlad blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the light. He stood and crossed the room then sat beside Anatoly. Without waiting for permission, he pulled Anatoly's hand away from it and pried his eyelid open. He stared for a moment. Bloodshot... but there was nothing. He could still have Anatoly try warm water. Vladimir hummed to himself, then started talking, "Don't rub it, okay? You probably scratched it... There's nothing there."

Anatoly dropped his hand and squinted, mumbling something unintelligible as he watched his sibling through one eye.

"Don't talk back," Vlad stated, not entirely sure what his sibling had said. He smirked and then stood. "C'mon, wash it, then don't touch it." He waited for a moment, staring at Anatoly as he waited for him to obey.

Anatoly pulled a face and slowly stood up off the couch, "We don't have running water?"

"We have water." Granted, it was their drinking water, but it was clean. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Vladimir walked through the dimly lit building, heading across it to the small storage closet. He glanced back to make sure Anatoly was stil following.

Anatoly trailed behind him. "How long are we going to stay here?"

"A while. Just until I can afford something else," Vlad stated. Reaching the supply closet, he stopped and knelt down. He retrieved a full water bottle and looked up at Anatoly. "Sit."

Anatoly sat down less-than-gracefully, cross-legged on the floor. "Did I wake you up?" he asked quietly, as though someone would over-hear them.

"Yeah, but I'll kill you for it later." He tipped his brother's head back and then held his eye open with one hand. "Try not to blink." He slowly-carefully-poure d a small amount of water into Anatoly's eye then stopped. "Now blink." Anatoly blinked diligently, hissing as the dull pain turned to and itch. He stopped, hardly daring to move as the scratching lessened.

"Mkay, now don't rub it... because you'll want to-a lot. But remember, don't." Vladimir smirked, then shook his head and spoke again. "It'll be fine in a few days."

"Thank you, Vladimir," Anatoly said with a soft sigh - he couldn't count to amount of sighing he had done in the last hour. The ten-year-old tried for a smile.

Shifting, Vlad patted Anatoly's shoulder. "Come on, let's try to get some sleep. Staying up won't help you any, okay?"

"Yeah," the younger agreed, starting to stand up. He wondered where he would be if something had happened to his brother - no, he didn't want to know.


	4. Chapter 4

The city was lit up by thousands of lights. Busy streets were crowded by hundreds of cars. Taillights shone brilliant red through the darkness as Sergei pulled onto the main road. He hit the turn signal and waited for an opening, pulling in when he was able. Sergei mumbled under his breath, shaking his head as someone honked their horn. He glared, but didn't retaliate.

"What time is it?" Sergei asked, turning for a moment to glance at Piotr, who sat in the passenger side.

Piotr pulled his phone from his back pocket. "Six." He touched the screen, dragging the message box down and staring blankly. He didn't recognize the number, and none of the people he talked to - certainly no one he worked with, would speak like that.

'Sorry for bothering. You're awesome.'

'Who is this' he replied, his focus now on the phone.

Sergei coughed to get his coworker's attention. "What?"

Piotr hummed, his only response.

'Fans, you know? '

'What?'

He looked up at Sergei, "Strange texts," he finally replied.

"Vladimir? Anatoly?" Generally, they called. Texts were almost always from Semyon, or one of the others.

The phone vibrated again. 'you're the best!'

'Thanks' He looked out the window, briefly shaking his head.

The phone vibrated yet again. 'Yay! '

"Who is it?" Sergei grumbled.

'How did you get my number '

"Don't know." Piotr shot Sergei a sideways glance.

'The internet. Look yourself up. Thanks for answer. Means a lot'

The internet? He frowned, leaning his elbow against the door and turning off the phone's screen. He'd have to find it. He had to take his number down. Not only his number, but his info. How had they known his name to look it up in the first place?

One last time, the cell vibrated. 'you made the week awesome!'


End file.
